The Adventures of the Shaded Soul
by xxdarknessxfallsxx
Summary: With every fiber of his being he needed to break the Lockett Curse. It depended on his love, pride, very soul. But before he met Courtney V and became a vampire on the bloody battlefields, he was a simple boy of the Confederate South. Prequel to Vengeance
1. The Beginning

**Welcome to the return ride of Vengeance! I applaud you for suffering this far. This story is the prequel to Vengeance is Written in Blood, but it's to be read **_after_** that story. I want you all to bare with me, Vengeance's first chapter was the beginning of something I had no idea what it would turn into 255 reviews and 87 favorites later. This could possibly be the same, or I could be getting worse, not better, as I try to write something out of my comfort zone for the first time. Historical writing? Pah. I'm a modern girl and this should be interesting to accomplish. I want to warn everyone who has read Vengeance, this story's mechanics are going to be a little different. I mean that I have brainstormed and thought of new aspects and characteristics for the vampires, and guess what? They most definitely do **not** sparkle. Anyway, there are things that I did not mention in Vengeance, so please don't be confused when Taylor starts rambling on about being able to go into the sun.**

**Before we start, I just want to thank _you_! My readers. I could not have expected the response I received from Vengeance and I want to thank everybody who supported me and (hopefully) still is! Thank you so much. -hugs- I hope you like Taylor's tale and I hope this will shed a little more light on how Taylor is the way he is and why he does the things he does!**

**And... Pardon the butchered French in the story. I used an online translator, and those things are supposed to be off a little. Thank you!**

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L'homme avec le masque blanc vous sauvera. The man with the white mask will save you.  
L'homme avec le masque blanc vous aimera. The man with the white mask will love you.  
L'homme avec le masque blanc vous tuera. The man with the white mask will_ kill _you.

Every lifeless cell of his being was prepared for the task that needed to be fulfilled. The man couldn't feel the wind or the soft specks of rain falling from the looming clouds overhead, he didn't flinch at the sound of a car screeching to a halt several hundred yards away, nor pay mind to the cat hissing furiously at him as he approached the small, quaint little home, located in this friendly little suburb not far from New York City.

It was the later part of the afternoon, long before sunset, but that didn't stop this man. If a _man_ was what one would call him. Since sunlight could still harm him in his human skin, he held faith that the shade of the clouds would protect him until his deed was done and he was gone. He looked human, walked as a human, spoke with the same tongue as any other, but he was _not_ mortal. His tall figure was well built from his raise, his skin was pale, almost translucent in the right light, but perhaps it just looked whiter under the blackness of his hair and eyes. Those dark coal eyes were trained on the house of his destination, where the task resided.

The front door to the house was not locked. The windows were not sealed. There was little keeping him from reaching her.

A record of Frank Sinatra played softly inside, almost in rhythm with the heartbeat of the only person within the household. She moved freely through her home, humming and sometimes singing along with the record as she dusted her living room.

The tall, pale man watched her in the living room through a large window, he followed her steps with his cold, dark eyes and waited until he could no longer see her backside before disappearing from her view. She was an older woman, though not completely unattractive; one didn't have to be blessed with better vision to notice the wrinkles forming around her eyes and lips, or the gray streaks threatening her blonde hair. After observing her, he moved further into his undertaking.

The back door was not locked. The man entered soundlessly from there, with the angry cat hot on his heels. The feline made quick steps into the living room, where the humming target resided. She sounded pleasant and happy as she said, "Hello, Tabby. Didn't I put you outsi-" she cut off her sentence, realizing that something was not as it should be.

With fast steps and a quickened pulse, she made her way to the back door after walking around to the front, but the intruder fled the opposite direction into the room of which she left. Just as she closed her back door, he cut off the Sinatra record. Again, she stood stiff and silenced her own noises to listen for anything out of the usual to help her decipher what was going on. '_Perhaps it was the end of a song? A new one should have started by now. The plug fell out of the socket, it is loose on that side of the room,_' her thoughts tried desperately to explain the unexplained. That was the custom of the people in this age, they were confident anything and everything could be explained with test tubes and statistics, and if it couldn't, it didn't exist or was fake. No one could simply be frightened anymore.

Too quickly for her eyes to see, the intruder moved without sound behind the target as she entered the living room again. He stood silent in the doorway, watching the woman pointedly as she looked over the record player and set the needle back on it's track. "That's odd..." she whispered. _Perhaps the cat knocked it off?_ The classical tune of Sinatra began again, her racing heart still sprinted loudly in her chest.

The intruder took a step closer to her backside.

He acted much like a predator, and she his prey, yet he dressed in a clean, crisp suit of a dark blue that held no wrinkles. His dark brown hair to match his eyes was slicked back neatly, not a strand out of place. He looked like a regular businessman, he even carried a leather brief case.

He nearly closed in on her now, he could end her life now if he wanted too...

But patience was a virtue.

Having succeeded in making her alert, the man decided it was time to make himself known. "Mary Anne Lockett. We have a few things to discuss," he announced calmly, yet stiflingly.

He was an intruder in her home, and he was only feet from her.

Mary, the target, spun around, then backed harshly into the mantel behind her with fear. "Who are you?!" she demanded in a raised voice of apprehension bound with surprise. _'How does he know my true name?' Could Luis have sent him?' s_he wondered internally. Her hand gathered a fire poker, a weapon that would be like a fragile stick against his iron skull, but was a better choice than some weapons a mortal could raise against an immortal.

"Please, do not be alarmed. You have no reason to fear me just yet," the man explained cordially. His coal eyes rested kindly upon her. He walked slowly over to a recliner that was a few yards away. A pale hand reached into his pocket and pulled out a golden pocket watch. He grasped the item firmly before he sat in the recliner with a comfortable sigh.

Mary's hazel-green eyes followed the pale man cautiously. Her shoulders eased but her gaze narrowed upon his figure as he sat himself in her home, on her furniture, as if it were his. His skin was so pale, his manner so foreign. She looked upon him quizzically; where she came from probably suggested that the man was not human right about now within her mind. She would figure out _what_ he was faster than any other mortal he'd come across.

"Please, sit. This is your home, after all," he offered.

"You negate my previous question," she snapped. The tall, dark-haired intruder quickly recalled her demand moments earlier and held the signs of apology on his white face.

"Pardon my manners, my name is Taylor Halling. I wish to tell you of a few things before I do what I came here to do."

"Which would be?" She inquired mildly.

"To kill you," the man responded truthfully. Her serene composure stiffened again; Taylor Halling opened his pocket watch, checked the time, then closed the face and set it back into his lap. "Please, take a seat." He gestured again to the chair across from himself.

Slowly, with a look of fear that was trying to decide if she believed his word or not, she took the seat and rested in it. Her body was still tense, but the blood was pumping slowly; no adrenaline was developing to send the poor woman into panic or shock.

"Now, is there anything you are curious about?" the cold, mysterious man offered now. His entire attitude was very calm, pleasant and nonchalant. Everything that murder _wasn't_.

"Yes," she started in a shaky tone, but was trying to become calm. "_Why_ do you want to kill me?" She asked stupidly, not knowing how else to phrase it.

"Believe, me, I don't _want_ to, I'm rather indifferent. Your death is going to be the catalyst in a chain of events that will lead to something wonderful and very much needed. A destiny bigger than yourself, if you will."

"I don't understand what you mean. If I must die, I deserve the right to know just what my death is going to _trigger_." Taylor focused on her thoughts for a moment. She was thinking of how long she'd be able to buy her time from him. She knew just _what_ he was, she knew that she couldn't run or fight him off, so instead of thinking of ways to escape, she was pondering how to make her life last as long as it possibly could.

"Of course. See, this all has to do with your family's curse and your daughter, Allison."

"You're not going to harm her, are you?" she asked with horror etched into her features. Her neck hairs must have been standing with the anticipation in her eyes. Her one and only daughter and heir to their family's throne, Allison, was the subject now. The intruder smiled to himself.

"No. Just the opposite. I'm going to keep her alive at all costs. She is the key to the curse's demise." Mary sighed in relief and leaned back, but the confused glint in her eye returned as she wished for him to go on. "Why would a _vampire_ such as yourself be interested in my Royal Family's curse?" she asked the man now, humoring him for knowing who she truly was, a Lockett and runaway queen, as he humored her for figuring out that he was a vampire simply from looking at his immortal manner and paleness of skin. Quite a witty woman, he thought. He would feel remorse in taking her life.

"Do you know just what the curse is, exactly?" the vampire asked her. She shook her head, but the creature could feel her coolness of the subject.

"I know that every male in the Lockett family has died after King Stefan, my husband included." There was a chill through her bones and ice in her voice with that statement.

"The curse is actually a tangible being, the same species as myself, but with a cold-hearted, vengeful nature that shouldn't be allowed to roam the earth as freely as she does. She has loyally executed the tragedies that follow the Lockett family tree for the last three centuries." Taylor's tone now matched the coldness of Mary's a moment ago. Vivid and wounding memories traveled to his eyes, they vanished an instant later.

"'_She.'_" Mary repeated. The curse was labeled by a gender?

"The bride of King Stefan, Courtney, was changed into a vampire several years into their marriage. She claims that the man did her wrong, and she took revenge over every generation since him, unyielding to her pert desire to see blood spilled. She is a malicious, vengeance-soaked and cunning being who shouldn't be allowed to live." Taylor's knuckles turned whiter than his pale skin as he created a tight fist. "I intend to destroy her. I've been calculating a plan for the passed nine years that's involved your daughter and a vampire meeting. They'll build a bond and together that will destroy this abomination with a bit of my guidance. In that plan, your death is the catalyst, as I've mentioned."

"And why not kill this monster yourself? The desire for revenge is strong within you."

"Oh, I have tried many a time," he told her easily, "and failed in each and every instance." His dark eyes ignited in fire now. "My plans all contained the same flaw; I went for a direct approach with little mind game. This monster's entire key to survival has been mind games, it's about time I played one of my own."

"How about you tell me everything, from the start," Mary coaxed, her tone chocolaty but her body nervous and shaking. The necessary conversation ended there, but it mattered little _when_ she died, only that she did. The vampire Taylor scratched his chin, deciding if he wanted to go into his life story. He only wanted to tell it a certain amount of times; he planned on eventually documenting it and giving it to some old civil war descendant who grew up with stories about his great-great grandfather who fought against the Yankees.

Quickly he flipped the face of the pocket watch open again and checked the time. He made up his mind as he shut it again. "Alright. You might want to go make yourself some tea, this is going to take all night." Almost too quickly, Mary stood and turned toward the kitchen. "And don't even think of calling for help. Make any sort of call or run and you know what happens," Taylor warned. "Besides, 911 and the local authorities are useless to save your life in time," he added simply. The threat was crystal clear.

The runaway Queen nearly ran to the kitchen to get away from his atmosphere. Her heart beat was racing again. Her thoughts were spinning through dozens of options, all useless and she thought of that, too.

The vampire Taylor heard the spoon making 'clink' noises against the side of the tea cup as she stirred the liquid in the other room, then some other noise overlapped the sound of the spoon. He thought her heard the dial of numbers on a telephone.

Before she had time to dial a fifth digit, he appeared in the kitchen and the phone was smashed into pieces on the floor. She screamed and backed away from him, but he stepped closer with a quicker pace.

"You think I'm going to sit by and listen to you talk about how you're going to kill me? You thought wrong!" she shouted at the vampire. Her voice was strong but she was terrified.

"I understand," the pale predator replied.

His simple reply surprised her. "What?"

"You married into the Lockett family. Though you don't share their blood, certain traits are retained from offspring watching parent, or shared from partner to partner. I hardly expected you to be idle, I counted on it, actually, because your husband or any before him would hardly be that way. Yet, woman," Her heart skipped a beat as his calm, misleading, gentlemanly composure gave way to a dark and menacing glower. His height cast a deathly shadow over her as she backed into a corner. "You've made your choice for time. Your death is inevitable and necessary tonight."

He could hear her heart trying to escape her chest. Her pupils dilated from fear, her hazel eyes within the paled, wrinkled sockets were as wide as physical limits would allow. She stared directly into his coal-colored eyes.

What she saw she would never be able to record anywhere for anyone to read.

She saw evil, she saw hell, like a colorless wasteland with a lake of ice and all hell's intensity in those eyes. Yet, she was not fearful of death itself, only of the pain and of _him_.

The _demon_ before her with the face of a handsome man and flowing dark locks made her faith stronger in that moment than any other moment in her life. It finally soaked in that she was going to die, not even God could change her fate now. Her eyes became blank and she stared at nothing and everything all at once. Her delicate, shaking lips parted to let out a plead for mercy, but none came. She would die with dignity, she would not once buckle her knees under this evil creature!

Without thought and only a hardwired need for survival, she tucked under Taylor's reach and fled for the nearest exit. Her hand hardly touched the doorknob to freedom before the vampire's strong grasp pulled her hair and shoulder in opposite directions.

The woman's neck snapped under the force, so she felt no pain when his sharp, long fangs ripped into the soft flesh of her neck.

Death was hardly upon her as he drained her helpless vessel of its blood. He stabbed into her skin again and again until it seemed like a devilish beast left their mark on her neck.

After the merciful act was done, after the floor and everything he wore was painted in red, and after he dropped her lifeless corpse unto the ground with a 'thud,' he wrote the message that _she_ would leave carefully on the ceiling above.

In dark red letters, scratched into the plaster of the ceiling with claws and written over again in the warm blood of the victim below, read the word "Vengeance."


	2. Book One Timeline

Book One Timeline:

**America, 1860.** South Carolina succeeds from the United States of America after Abraham Lincoln victors in the Presidential Election. Six states in the deep south follow, which include Texas, Louisiana, Alabama, Mississippi, Georgia, and Florida. By February 4, 1861 they form the Confederate States of America. By April of that same year, Virginia, Arkansas, Tennessee and North Carolina join the Confederacy.

**Battle of Bull Run, July 21, 1861.** The North believes the Rebels are wishful thinkers and that this battle will suppress the rebellion of the South. The Northerners are so confident in victory, Senators and their family come to watch the event from the sidelines; these witnesses are caught in the crossfire and several casualties occur. The Confederacy claims its first big victory over the overconfident Union, who realize they must prepare for a long, difficult war.

**Battle of Shiloh, April 6–7, 1862.** It takes a full year before the Union has a significant victory against the Confederacy. During this battle, the Confederacy lead a surprise attack against Grant and the Union army triumphed. That Tennessee ground saw 23,700 casualties from both sides.

**Battle of Antietam, September 17, 1862.** Called the bloodiest day in U.S. military history. In a single day 26,000 are wounded, missing, or dead. Though there is no clear victor, Lee and his Confederate forces in Maryland and retreat to Virginia, while Lincoln sees this battle as an opportunity to begin emancipation.

**Emancipation Proclamation, January 1, 1863.** An executive order issued by Lincoln that declared slave freedom in every rebel state that did not re-join the Union. Thousands of slaves were liberated in the first day alone, thousands more would follow, and 200,000 or so would join the Union forces and fight against the Confederacy of which they were liberated.

**Battle of Gettysburg, July 1-3, 1863.** The tide of war turns against the South as this battle sees a clear Union victory. In three days of battle, there are 51,000 casualties from both sides. Lincoln presents his famous 'Gettysburg Address' after this incident.

**Sherman's March to the Sea, November-December, 1864.** Using a tactic called 'total war,' General Sherman leads the Union army and marches from Atlanta to Savannah, Georgia in order to split the confederacy further apart. In this march, he destroys every city and railroad along the way; though an excessive action, shortened the war and saved countless lives from being sacrificed in the prolonged conflict.

**April 9, 1865.** General Lee of the Confederate Army surrenders to General Grant of the Union in the Appomattox Court House in Virginia. Grant allows the Confederate officers to keep horses and sabers and ride away with dignity.

President Abraham Lincoln is assassinated, **April 14, 1865.** He is shot by John Wilkes Booth while attending a play in Ford's Theater with his wife.

**December 6, 1865.** The Thirteenth Amendment is ratified. Slavery is finally, officially abolished everywhere in the United States.


	3. Chapter I

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews, guys! I'm so glad there are still old readers keeping up with my lazy habits.**  
**Please tell me what you think of this first chapter in the past. If there is a time when you feel completely bored when reading any part of this story, please let me know and I'll try to spice it up! I want to be historically accurate, but this _is_ fiction, after all. :D And if you get lost with all the history stuff, I'll be glad to explain anything you need!**

**Please go vote on the poll on my profile! Thanks!  
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**Book One**  
**Chapter One**  
**A recollection of the past between 1837-1850**  
**The Year a Demon was Born**

Why did his memories betray his mood? The vampire with the memories sat in his new office in Paris, relocated from New York, perfectly content and minded of his own business. The clock spoke five in the afternoon, but it was not late enough for the sun to disappear outside, so his curtains were drawn over the large glass windows that would have otherwise given him a lovely, mountaintop view of the pulsing streets of lively Paris, and if nothing else, an exceptional glimpse of the Eiffel Tower.

The vampire sat comfortably in his desk chair with his feet propped up on the polished wood and paperwork; it was a lounging position very becoming of the man these days. All his time was spent with the woman he loved, and when he was not doting upon her, he relaxed without a single worry. His mind every moment was not filled with agony as he thought and failed in his methods of eliminating that vengeful beast. Life was good after the defeat of Courtney Vengeance, his sworn enemy and destroyer of hope and happiness. With one less evil gone from this earth, he could finally focus on the more enjoyable things in his life. His mind was free to wander, however, he wasn't one to willingly think of the darker moments in his past.

This was where his thoughts betrayed him; his mind replayed a scene in his memory, like a rolling movie projector playing of its own mechanical accord, of when he killed Mary Lockett, the mother of Allison and the then Queen of Aldorra. As he explained to the poor woman then, her death was needed to make the dominoes begin to fall into place. After her death, Taylor only had to manipulate a safe meeting between Lukas, a vampire trapped in a one-sided love with the beast, and Allison, the mortal lookalike of the beast. After their meeting, all that the man with his feet on his desk had to do was keep certain variables in check and contain the situation so that the independent factors worked as they were supposed too... To the love of his life, this plan seemed complicated, but to him, his devious plan made perfect sense, and best of all, it worked. Courtney Vengeance was dead and he was free to love his lover with all the passion in his heart without any distraction of revenge.

Yet, there was still one factor to the experiment that continued to work independently. She currently walked down the hallway toward his office with a vase full of bright flowers in her hands.

She knocked once but didn't wait to be let in. "_Livraison,_" called a somewhat mocking, delightful tone of a woman with long, darker blonde hair. Her figure was exquisite, but her manner was too bold and brash for the vampire Taylor to be comfortable with. The woman set the vase on the far side of his desk, but the aroma was suffocating still. The man at his desk brought his feet down to the floor and sat up to receive his guest.

"What a lovely surprise, Allison," he greeted, though the politeness didn't reach his eyes.

"You needn't act cordial with me, Taylor. You may be fancy and proper on the outside, but on the inside you love to kick back," Allison replied wittily. "I never saw a hair out of place before I killed Courtney and now it seems like the messy, unkept style is a good look for you. I think your tie might also be crooked-" She stopped when the man pulled out his shirt to look at his tie in a quick panic. "Oh no, my eyes were only deceiving me," she added playfully. Taylor and his coal colored eyes began to glare.

"I thought Lukas wasn't letting you come 600 kilometers within Aldorra for the next ten years so that nobody recognizes you from your human life." His implications for her to go away were clear enough. Allison pretended to hear nothing out of the ordinary.

"I convinced him to let me visit France so that I might see you. I never did properly thank you."

"For what?" He asked, honestly stumped.

"It's only been ten years! Have you forgotten already? My pregnancy of course. Surely I would have died if not for you. I owe you my life, and the life of my first born."

"Hm. And these flowers are a token of your gratitude?"

"No, these flowers are for Julie. I didn't bring you anything, I'm afraid. Besides, is there anything you desire you do not already have? Anything I could have bought with money would be worthless, so I only bring my verbal thanks. Thank you, Taylor Halling."

"Ah, it's Taylor Halen, now," he corrected. "Just as you are now Allison Hawthorn."

Allison arranged the flowers carefully before looking at the vampire Taylor with a satisfied grin. Her ears secretly loved hearing her new name, a name not connected to any concrete royalty or predetermined legacy. Her smile disappeared as an underlining guilt surfaced.

"Tell me, Allison..." Taylor commanded gently, "Do you miss your family? You left them while they were alive and possibly in need of your human presence. It must sometimes eat away at you."

Allison touched the petals of the flowers gently now, as if she were cradling their weak, delicate bodies from bending into the idle breeze. She did not open her mouth to answer, but the sadness in her sapphire eyes conveyed her story well. "It's not like a had a choice in the matter, now did I? Death was inevitable before I turned thirty; whether I let it claim me by ground or fang, well, that was my decision." She glanced his direction with familiarity. "Forgive me for delaying my answer, but after you became a vampire, did you leave any family behind?" She held a somber curiosity. "Luke told me a little about your past, that you were turned against your will during the American Civil War."

The male vampire did not reply immediately. He took a golden pocket watch from his pocket and checked the time, closed the face and glanced at the door. In his mind he tried to calculate if it grew late enough for Julie to fetch him and the two of them be about their business, and leave Allison alone and their questions unanswered. The pocket watch said that time enough existed to answer Allison's question, and perhaps if he invited her along to wherever Julie wanted to go for the evening, enough time existed for a large part of his mortal biography.

"Please, sit," he told the woman; Allison obliged him. "Do you have plans with Luke for the night? What I have to say may bleed into later hours of the evening, if you want to hear it."

Allison leaned back and made herself comfortable. "Actually, Luke isn't going to be here until tomorrow. I have all the time the day and night has to offer." Her attitude reflected one of inevitability. Taylor glanced at the door again, hopeful to be rescued, but after he realized the femininity of the desire, he dismissed it and faced his audience. A painful nostalgia filled his cold, coal eyes.

"There was something about the south that would hold my heart forever. I can dress in the fine suits and drink the best bottled blood that our kind, the vampires I mean, can supply, but behind the costumes and charades I suppose I am still that hard working boy from the south that yearned a good days work under the sun. As our current state would allow, that will never be able to come again. The sun was a necessity taken from me that fateful day on the battle field, a day where blood ran from brothers and fathers and sons and stained the very soil of their creation.

"But that particularly bloody portion of the tale came later on," he digressed. Allison already leaned forward in her seat, peaked with interest from his introduction alone. He couldn't suppress a small smirk.

"Keep in mind that you need to have an open mind about the culture of the southern United States during the antebellum period," he warned this audience politely. "My year of birth stood at 1837. I was born into the American southern aristocracy and resided on a brilliant plantation for all of my childhood. We lived in the south, Georgia to be exact, where it was the custom to own slaves as both servants and laborers and hire an overseer to run productivity in the fields. We raised cotton, rice, indigo, and almost only locally, peaches at Laudington**, the name of our plantation, and it was this business that kept our family's name and status. (** not official; any ideas?) The Halen family grew crops using slaves for nearly a hundred years before then, no one ever had a problem with worker conditions when the cotton was needed, but when there was plenty to go around... Anyway, my father swore loyalty to his union and his state, graduated from West Point and served in the military for several years. He retired as a Colonel after the Mexican War with a slight gimp to his left leg, he returned home to run the plantation just as his father taught him too. His wife, the lovely Carolyn Mae Richmond (her maiden name), blessed him with three sons and was pregnant with another child in the autumn of 1843. My mother was an Englishwoman, a fresh legal citizen of the United States upon marrying my father, but born in England and came from the diplomatic Richmond family. I know for a fact my father didn't marry her for money or vise versa, both families were loaded all the way up the family tree. My father treasured Carolyn Mae, but she missed her home across the ocean, I could tell, yet she lived without complaint in southern America. One reason she stayed there was because she loyally loved my father, another, because of the peach blossoms; she absolutely adored their view and color."

"You sound like you admired her very much," Allison noted softly. There was a certain empathy in her eyes, she knew they both loved and respected their mothers and that both were gone forever.

"My mother was probably the kindest soul I've ever met, and that includes Julie." Allison was absolutely beaming as Taylor spoke. His tale paused as he sent her a questioning look.

"It's refreshing to have you open up and talk about your past. It makes you seem very... human. I mean real, not just a calculating and devious vampire."

"I'll take that as a compliment." He supposed the civilized nature was enjoyable, and he did want his tale to be honest as he told her. "Trevor was the eldest son, the son that set the level of success required for the sons who came after. He was the carbon copy my father wanted from all of his male offspring. The day after he was born in 1829, my father signed the Laudington Plantation inheritance to him in the will. Because of this inheritance, he became well-educated in economics and politics and followed after our father by attending school at West Point. The north was ever so dependent on the south's natural resources, as the south, begrudgingly, was to the manufactured items from the northern factories and provisions grown on northern plains. This balance of north and south, agriculture with industry, was merely a toddler in the basket of the American soil; the country was going to see it's first century of birth only two decades from when I entered the picture.

"The next son, Travis, saw what the brother before him accomplished and instead of competing with his elder for our father's respect and ownership of the plantation, he deserved his own way into education. He attended at West Point but later studied the medical practice, eventually after fighting his part in the conflicts after the Mexican War he married a fine young lady from the north and became a doctor. He gathered his certificate to become a doctor in the north, much to our father's dismay, and lived in Missouri with his bride, but he was more successful than the elder brother, and by success I mean richly. The old man couldn't complain.

"Then, resting in the shadow of the riches acclaimed by the offspring before was the youngest son. Me, Taylor the _trabaja*_. (* Spanish for hard-worker) My heart belonged to the south and the agricultural landscape of cotton stalks and peach trees nodding on the golden hills that I was born and raised on. I knew I didn't belong to military schools and the plantation operation, but my father was leaning far down my neck with weary eyes to watch me become just as successful as the sons before me ,yet with hopes I didn't catch any 'Yankee fever' the middle brother brought back to the south with him.

"The Halen family didn't end there, however. The child my father hoped to be another son in my mother's womb was born a beautiful black-haired daughter. Her birth blessed us on a cool autumn evening, her cries of vitality and life sang to the twinkling stars in the melancholy blue sky looming above.

"My mother passed away a week later.

"The family doctor told my father that she contracted an infection from the delivery and she couldn't manage to regain her health with the cold of the nights after the birth. Devastation took a tight grasp over my household every night thereafter, and its vile hands never seemed to relinquish. I remember the night before her death more clearly than any other memory starring her I possess. I was only seven then.

"My mother was a beautiful ivory-skinned lady with the accent and posture of an Englishwoman. Black hair with length and luster as appropriate with curls always seemed to drape over her shoulders in the prettiest of angles no matter the situation, even death. My mother's favored household slave, Millie, sang to the nameless newborn in one corner of the room while my mother rested in the other on her deathbed of hand-quilted blankets and cotton sheets.

" 'Taylor, it's always a joy to see the face of my youngest son. Your brothers haven't stopped in to talk with me today... did you know that?' she asked me. Her voice was dry, her forehead was covered in flaky sweat from the latest fever. I sat by her side, a young boy looking scared and almost desperate as his mother lay in the bed, the Angel of Death looming in the darkness.

" 'Mother, Pa is optimistic you will recover any day now. He says you did it with Trevor, you can do it this time, too. I believe him,' I said.

"My mother smiled with a certain laughter in her bright, hazel eyes. Eyes that sparkled for only a moment before they dimmed again under the light of the oil lamp on the table next to her. 'Your Pa... Never wants to accept defeat. I love him so,' she replied. I didn't understand what she meant.

" 'What do you mean, mother?' My voice or face must have leaked panic, because I worried her. My stomach churned as I realized I'd caused her dismay.

" 'Calm down, my darling. Everything will turn out the way that God intends, that is what I mean. Have you seen your beautiful new sister?' She quickly changed the subject and motioned for Millie to bring the sleeping baby. Not even a week old, the tiny little infant wrapped in a peach-colored blanket rested with every speck of innocence a baby girl could possess. Her tiny form fit perfectly into my mother's cradled arms as the slave passed the nameless daughter to her. 'I haven't decided on a name for her yet, I should very soon.' Her eyes were glazed over in a hazy dullness as a soft smile gifted her chapped lips. 'What do you think she should be called, Taylor?' My mother pressed gentle fingers to the infant's skull before resting her loving eyes on me. I looked upon my new sister with wonder; she was the first baby I'd come into close contact with. I was intrigued.

"Such innocence, as I mentioned. She had the same ivory white skin my mother and I shared, much paler than the tanned southern skin of my father and elder brothers. On top of her tiny head rested thin strands of the black hair that was as black as mine, her nose was pointed like my mothers, not flat and stubby like my fathers. I smiled as the tiny infant yawned in her bundle. I knew she must have been dreaming of wonderful, colorful dreams.

" 'She looks like you, Mother. Give her your name.' I told her.

" 'Carolyn? You don't say...' My mother smiled with the recognition of it. 'Carolyn Taylor Halling. How about that?'

"I blushed. 'You don't have to make her middle name as mine.'

" 'Why shouldn't I? You've named her, darling. Would you promise me something?' She asked. The airy, weak tone returned over her as she held Carolyn close to her. I realized that my mother looked exhausted, the light from the lamp flickered over the dark bags under her gentle eyes.

" 'Anything, Mother.'

" 'Take care of your sister. Protect her as an elder brother. Make sure she marries as honorable man, keep her safe until then. Would you do that for me?'

" 'Of course.' I promised. My mother seemed satisfied, she then carefully handed Carolyn's baby bundle to me. 'Support her head, and carry her back to Millie,' My mother instructed. 'I love you both, more than anything.' Her last words of the evening sounded more like a goodbye than a goodnight.

I received Carolyn and with the softest embrace, and with the most careful steps I could take I walked across the room and handed my baby sister to Millie. I couldn't keep my eyes away from her face, it was so irresistibly round and pure. As I viewed her angelic, sleeping form, I vowed to keep my mother's promise. From that moment on, Carolyn was my responsibility.

"My mother did not survive the night. I may have been the last to talk with her, but I don't know for sure. With the passing of my mother's spirit from her body, a foul, dark aura enveloped our home. My father, who was always a stern and respectable man, became nothing but bitter and angry after that tragic event. The house slaves that my mother favored before her passing were ordered into the fields, work they were not familiar with, and everyday after my father was hardly ever kind, or lenient I should say, to the working negros as he'd been before.

"With life healthy within the daughter's chest, Carolyn became both a celestial blessing and an infallible curse all at one time.

"The only other memory I remember as clearly as my mother introducing me to my prized sister is the memories of her lullabies. She would sing me to sleep every night I wished up until I turned five years old, because when I turned five my father made clear that I was too old for such baby-like courtesies, but there was one song I remembered indefinitely.

" 'Let's see, where to begin...' She would hum a few tunes until she heard one she liked, and her voice began softly singing the lyrics of a song that would never again escape the walls of my mind so long as I was human or vampire.

"_In response to aching silence,  
memory summons half-heard voices__  
And my soul finds primal eloquence,  
and wraps me in song. _

_If you would comfort me, sing me a lullaby.  
__If you would win my heart, sing me a love song.  
__If you would mourn me and bring me to God,  
sing me a requiem, sing me to Heaven."_

Allison watched Taylor only recite the words, but near the end of his chanting, a soft tune broke from his lips in the sound of a lovely tenor voice. It began cracked, as if he hadn't sang in a very long time. The haunting final words of the tune stuck in his listener's head without fail.

"After my mother's death, I saw it my duty to sing my treasured sister this lullaby each night. Millie the slave was a great help with raising Carolyn early on, and besides her I basically raised Carolyn myself.

"My mother died in 1844, and the following year my father attended to military duties in Texas to help the annexation and he would be absent from my and my siblings life for the majority of the next five years until he retired in 1849. With a plantation full of Trevor, Travis, an infant little sister, myself and 150 negro slaves living in their housing quarters outside the main home, things became isolated and somber and we learned our lesson of independence quickly. My father knew plenty of people who could visit us and make sure the four of us had everything we needed, but my eldest brother Trevor trusted nobody outside the immediate family and barely trusted the three overseers who worked for the Halen family. Shortly after my father took leave for Texas, Trevor heard a story from a gossiping mother of a nearby neighbor of a slave revolt in Virginia the passed summer. The revolt was small and easily put down, but this news put Trevor in a total fear of the capability of the slaves at our plantation. He knew they outnumbered us forty to one, he knew that even though their skin was a different color and he'd been raised to think they were mentally inferior to us, any man, or 'black beast' as he came to call the male slaves, was capable of murder or overthrowing us from our power over them. His little toleration for other people lingering in our home led us to lead a solitary life. Travis, Trevor's younger by two years, hated this, and eventually he came to dislike the south altogether with its reliance on the 'peculiar institution' of slavery. So long as I had Carolyn to entertain, I was indifferent to this temporary life style until our father returned.

"Both Trevor and Travis were torn over the loss of our mother, but they lacked the promise to baby Carolyn to take care of her and love her, therefore our baby sister was generally ignored by her eldest brothers and only grew close to Millie and myself in her first few years of life.

"Every day, Carolyn grew more vibrant and beautiful. By age one, the little clump of hair she was born with grew to a full head of shiny black hair identical to mine, her skin was soft and pale white like any girls should be, but her like-complexion was not the thing that drew her so dear to me. It was her eyes. Her eyes were the brightest hazel-green like the mother before her and they searched out of her head with such wonder and purpose.

"She wanted to look at everything when she was a bundle, and after she began to crawl and walk, she wanted to touch and keep everything she found pleasing to those eyes. As soon as she could speak, she coveted every thing she found pretty, and as soon as she could structure sentences, she would charm her listener into giving her what she desired. An extra treat, a few more minutes to play, a lovely handkerchief held by an old woman at church. By age five, I realized the life of isolationism my brother forced me to raise Carolyn in never brooded well with Carolyn. She would love any and every bit of attention she could get from the spectators at church on Sunday mornings, she relished in being dressed up and having Millie curl her silky black hair, she would curtsy and beg Trevor politely to be allowed to attend a dinner party at the Duncan's plantation several miles down the road. He could only oblige her, after all, who could say no to the spitting image of our mother?

"I found myself in that same dilemma. I could never say no to Carolyn.

"Not even on the day of her sixth birthday when she asked me to give her a tour of the slave quarters. The request was innocent enough, but very odd. A well-bred, proper girl like Carolyn shouldn't have thought twice about where the slaves who work for her live, much less want to see the dirty little bunks they lived in.

"I figured out her true motive for the tour a week later in the early morning, when I noticed a small figure dressed in bright green sneaking away from the plantation home by the view from my second-story window. When I squinted my eyes to get a closer look, I recognized the figure as six-year-old Carolyn, and she was headed straight toward the slave quarters."


	4. Chapter II

**A/N: Sorry it's been so long since I've updated. I attempted to finish my FMA and Razia's Shadow fanfic before I dove back into this one, but I find I can't stay away forever. Hopefully all of my Vengeance fans are not hating me and enjoying the new story. :D  
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**For everybody who hasn't read ****Vengeance is Written in Blood****... go read it first. For everyone who has, I want to mention that I've thought of a different- and way better- ending for it. I'll reveal it later, but I'm not going to publish the rough/final copy anywhere online. Sorry!  
**

**Finally, I really want to apologize if all this description of slaves and life in the south offends anybody. Anything racial that my characters blab about does not, in any way, reflect my personal views. I'm just doing what I can to make this part of Taylor's life historically accurate, and while this point in time was awful for blacks, note the progress made from then compared to now. (note black Prez, yea). Sure, there's still racism in places and stereotypes are really out of hand, but this country can only **_**grow**_** from the past toward total equality for race, gender, religion and nationality, and we all play a crucial part in that! 'nuff said. **

**(If anybody noticed, I'm uber passionate about freedom/equality of religion. I don't have time for racist bullshit when a good chunk of Christians in this country are being hypocrites and most of the population thinks 'Muslim' and 'terrorist' are interchangeable terms. /They are ****not****/. )**

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* * *

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**Book One  
Chapter Two  
A recollection of the past between 1850-1855  
The Unacceptable Rule  
**

"I followed the bright green blur as she moved quickly and quietly through the maze of hedges in the garden on the east side of the house, and onward down the hill to the slave's housing. Compared to the fancy Palladian architecture of the main home- its tall, brick-red walls were well crafted and an elegant facade of white columns caught the essence of southern plantation owners- the housing for the slaves was comparable to an urban city slum. The Negros lived in small, single-room wooden constructed sheds that were bitten with termites and crowded like a chicken coop. Five beds to a house, and perhaps double the amount of beds was the amount of Negros that lived in a single home. They were constantly breeding, which my father saw as no consequence- for what is better than a stock of cattle than a fertile stock of cattle? Because of their multiplication, houses would be even more crowded than speculated. But what did it matter to us, the white, slave-owning family who lived in a mansion higher on the hill? Absolutely nothing, except for dear Carolyn.

"I followed her, I later realized, out of curiosity more than protection. I knew her goal was to make contact with the slaves, perhaps introduce herself even though they all knew of her and called her 'Miss Carolyn, Miss Halen.' I wondered, why did she have such an avid interest in those breathing chattel? I noticed, when I'd given her the tour of their housing a few days earlier, how she looked at them with those bright, hazel-green eyes; awe and enthusiasm beamed from her whenever she looked at the Negros, like they were a wonder worthy to behold.

"The young sister I treasured was barely seen in the first rays of dawn as the sun rose in the east as I followed. Her black hair blended perfectly into the surrounding shadows, though her glowing white skin and green dress gave no aid to her stealth. She approached the closest of the slave shacks, the one most in the open and nearest to the main house just in case the visit did go awry and she needed to flee.

"I resisted the urge to walk up and scold her on the spot, but my curiosity flared over my better judgment. I watched in the shadows of a bush as she knocked carefully on the door. The slave's work day would begin as soon as the sun allowed. An overseer hired by my father would have been coming to herd the Negroes into the field in the next half hour or so.

"The door opened.

"Carolyn seemed to stiffen as a gasp of surprise came from the mouth of the Negro mother who opened the door. Her skin was dark, her body plump and hard with the effects of years of physical labor. I knew that particular slave was a mother to several children that were grown or growing on our plantation. She addressed young Carolyn as politely as she could while she looked around nervously to see if she were being tested. Indeed, if my father had been in my place in those bushes, he would have stormed out and punished both Carolyn and the slave, probably for no apparent reason other than being the one to answer the door. But I was not my father, and my curiosity was not yet satisfied. What did Carolyn want with these things?

"The Negro asked Carolyn if she could assist her with anything, a standard question. At first, I thought my ears deceived me at her reply when she said, 'May I play with some of them my age?'

"My baby sister, family to the owners of the woman she spoke to, asked permission if she could play with the woman's children. Taken aback, I only watched the woman look around again with unsureness and then at Carolyn's young, begging face framed by black curls. I could only imagine the amount of sparkle in her hazel eyes, and Carolyn's charm seemed to work as the Negro nodded and disappeared within the shack to fetch two children that were the same height as Carolyn. The Negro introduced the two children, both dark of skin and full of some fear and unsureness. I could feel their unease from standing so close to my sister, white daughter of the Master who would surely beat them if they were found socializing with my sister freely as Carolyn demanded.

" 'Chase me!' Carolyn commanded. She enjoyed playing a game of cat and mouse, mostly because she was confident in her victory. The two children and their mother looked horrified as Carolyn darted away with playfulness. Social conventions at the time labeled Carolyn's actions so unseemly, so unheard of..."

"I think I understand," Allison interrupted.

Taylor blinked. Her voice broke him out of his deep and detailed recollection. "No, I don't think you understand completely. Even after slaves will be emancipated in the south, respect for them from the whites won't increase. In some places, respect _still _hasn't increased to this day. It was against the unwritten rules to talk to a white woman if one was a black male after emancipation, and even though the U.S. Constitution gave blacks the vote after the Civil War, most who lived in the south didn't vote because they lived in fear of what would happen to them if they exercised their rights. Radical organizations like the KKK could be thanked for that. If something as simple as conversation was taboo, having a playmate and everything Carolyn did was extraordinarily wrong."

"Are you a racist, Taylor?" Allison finally couldn't help but ask.

Taylor seemed more bothered by the question than any before. "Do you want to hear the rest or not?"

The listener nodded.

"Good. So, Carolyn ended up playing one round of chase and one round of hide-and-seek with those two slave boys. Their mother was both horrified yet grateful at the scene of her two children experiencing a game of equal respect. I suppose looking back, she dreamed of equal respect for whites and blacks, but I had not noticed it then.

"As the dawn became more prominent and the sun peeked over the horizon, the slave mother's apprehension finally took hold and she feared what would happen if her boys were caught playing with someone as highly ranked on the social ladder than Carolyn. The mother suggested Carolyn go back to the main home so the boys could prepare for the day, even though young slaves didn't work in the fields until they were older, but Carolyn seemed very pleased that she was able to have found a couple playmates so close to home. Her visit had been a success, I presumed, as a sure happiness radiated from her smile. I heard her say, 'Don't worry, I won't tell anyone,' to the mother, who held a look similar to mine. She was questioning whether Carolyn really knew what sort of rules she was breaking by coming here and wanting to play with black slaves. By her comment and the comprehension in her eyes, I knew she understood everything about the social conventions well, the only thing she didn't understand was the reason _why_ the social barriers were in place, and after that visit to the slave housing, she would question me about it often.

"I waited until Carolyn disappeared over the hill leading back to the house before I moved from my hiding place. I had to run as I saw the overseer coming in on horseback.

"Later in the day, around brunch, I sat alone in the dining room of our home when young Carolyn entered and joined me for a meal. Travis and Trevor already excused themselves, and I had a feeling that young Carolyn waited for them to disappear before she approached. She greeted me brightly, since I was her favorite brother, and I tried hard not to let any recognition of her misguided actions from earlier reach my features. I felt the need to address the issue and correct her, to tell her kindly of her mistake before, God forbid, Trevor find out what she had done.

"But six-year-old Carolyn held a questioning look on her face as she crawled into the large wooden chair and sat on her knees with her elbows on the polished table; she exerted very improper table etiquette for a lady of her standard by doing this, and I felt certain she did it on purpose. She set her chin in her cute, tiny hands and tilted her head so that her black curls shifted around her little fingers.

" 'Taylor, how come Millie isn't allowed to go to dinner parties at Mr. Duncan's plantation? She's a pretty lady, but she isn't allowed to dress up like I do and talk to Mr. Duncan as I talk to him.'

"I discovered two things about Carolyn as she asked me this question. She proved to me that she was aware of the social differences between whites and slaves, but she did not understand why they were in place, or more importantly, she did not seem to _accept_ these social customs. Her tone was one of distaste, like treating Millie the house slave less than a human with rights like whites had was wrong. At the time, it wasn't that I thought it was wrong to treat Millie the house slave as a slave, it was just a social custom that had always been in place since my birth. Blacks were property, whites were on a higher level. It had been that way since my father's birth and his father's birth.

"In response to Carolyn's question, I told her something like 'that's just the way it is,' because truly, there wasn't any other reason.

"Carolyn happened to be the first of few in the south who held this new thought that slaves were not lesser just because their skin was a different color.

"Every Sunday after that brunch, on the ten mile walk to church, Carolyn and I would catch glimpse of the lower class whites who lived without slaves, mostly surviving off subsistence farming. Historians today, and people back then, considered those lower-class whites backward, or 'poor white trash' if you want to use slang. Back then, a _large_ percentage of whites in the south owned no more than a handful of slaves or none at all. The contemporary image of America's antebellum south people have today is of the large plantations with many slaves picking cotton, but in reality, only the aristocracy owned enough slaves to support a plantation. And the aristocracy, only a tiny part of the entire population, controlled most politics and government in the south. Startling, really. Anyway, whenever Carolyn and I passed the non-slave owning whites on the way to Sunday service, she made startling comparisons between those whites to the slaves, like note how they were usually not literate, just like blacks, and worked their entire life on a farm to survive, just like our slaves. The girl was only six and already unveiling the social flaws in the white supremacy belief. Those backward, illiterate whites, even though they were backward and illiterate and actually no higher than slaves on a biological scale, were still considered to be higher on the social ladder by society just because they were white. Carolyn didn't see skin colors, however.

"In some strange and eerie way, she made me start to question the social rules as well.

"In all my thirteen years of life, I'd never once bothered to question why things operated the way they did. Strange that a six-year-old should trigger such questioning in a person's morals."

"It was not long after Carolyn began expressing her borderline-abolitionist views to me that our father returned from the Mexican War after the annexation of Texas five years prior. He retired in December of 1849 and returned home permanently the following January, but his absence for the five years really took a toll on the Halen family.

"My two older brothers were the caretakers of the home in my father's absence, but Trevor was still only sixteen when our father left, Travis fourteen, and they stood at twenty-one and nineteen when the man returned. Leaving all that responsibility in the hands of a couple teenagers caused Trevor deep paranoia toward slave riots and trust issues with anybody outside the family, while Travis learned that he was sick and tired of life in the south (mostly realized from the tight leash the eldest brother kept everybody on while he was the man of the house).

"When our father returned, it should have been a relief and a joy. What we met when we welcomed our long lost parent through the front door was a stingy old man with a gimp in his right leg and a rude attitude toward anyone who wasn't white. Any kindness our father once possessed couldn't be traced, and the friendly air he raised my brothers and I in was completely at stand-still. I mentioned that this darkness in his character began after the death of his wife and our beautiful mother, but now that he'd had five years to throw himself into work with the military and push the awful memory-as well as his humanity- to the back of his head, he was only a hollow shell of the man he'd been before.

"Every day in our home after the death of my mother was a suffocating void of pressure; we felt it tenfold when that worn stranger arrived.

"Bitterness radiated from him as he stepped through the threshold of our home, and the first thing he said- after he glanced over all his children who stood in a line wearing their Sunday best, and grunted with moderate approval- left a lifetime of damage on poor Carolyn.

"My beloved sister stood at the end in the line of his offspring dressed her favorite blue dress, which was adorned with several ribbons and delicate lace. It was an extravagant design to match her mentality. Her small hands rested in the palm of Millie and myself, Carolyn's caretakers since infancy. The reason Carolyn asked the two of us to hold her hand at all was because she felt nervous to meet the man she would have to call 'Pa;' his arrival would be her first impression since she didn't remember him, and she expressed that she felt butterflies in her stomach when we saw his carriage draw up the grove toward the main home.

"Father took one look at Millie and her hand interlaced with his daughters', the spitting image of his late wife, I might add, and said 'Git yer negro hands away from my girl, slave! Don't you have better things to do, worthless animal!'

"Needless to say, his loathsome tone left a terribly awful impression on Carolyn, who bolted from the room, crushed and crying after Millie pulled her hand away from hers. My father should have shown shock in this sort of situation, but he only shook his head with disapproval. His thoughts may have been something along the lines of, 'I didn't dismiss her yet,' instead of ones filled with concern like mine were. I glanced up at Millie as she turned to walk away, though did not dare move from my own spot, and recognized the fear on her weary, dark face. Her expression reflected Carolyn's right before she'd burst from the room.

"The stranger of a father who returned from Texas dismissed us with a violent wave of his arm and a deep mumble before he walked away. Though he seemed so cruel, I could tell he was tired. Not from his journey back to Georgia, but from life itself.

"Even we, his children, could not give him joy. All of us received the silent treatment and a hard stare after his return, only spoken to if it were a disciplinary correction or to learn information from us. Not so much as a good morning or good evening, nothing civil or polite, unless the man spoke to some other plantation owner in our community. Maintaining a spotless and well-respected image for the Halen family came before _everything_ else for that man, including his love for us.

"Over the next several weeks, a power struggle manifested in the house. Trevor attempted to remain in authority like he was used to, but our father demanded respect and stricter discipline than before. The old man slandered Trevor's upkeep of the plantation and hired more overseers, which went against every self-preservation technique Trevor practiced. The negative criticism was meant to throw the boy into enlightenment, but the frequent arguing and fighting between father and eldest son only upset the already unhappy household. After two months of this war, Trevor demanded the money to attend West Point to continue his education, and the following year, middle-brother Travis would follow just to get out of the deep south.

"My reaction to my father's attitude was a personal escape. I found myself taking off the harsh workload my father ordered on Millie some days, mostly because Carolyn insisted I help her for reason that the house slave was a target to our father's cruelty. I still found it difficult to negate Carolyn's desires, so I was obligated split logs for firewood whenever our father left to visit another plantation. The manual labor was not familiar to a house slave, which made it unfair for our father to order such tasks for Millie; surprisingly, I found satisfaction out of doing the hard work myself, rather than ordering another to do it for me. For those couple hours a day I spent splitting logs in the corner of our main property, for all of the sweat and muscle I poured into the task, I felt like I had a purpose. I knew by giving that effort my family would keep warm during the winter, and it would be because of me. The reward of doing something for myself consoled me, and my contribution on Millie's behalf kept my sister satisfied.

"As for Carolyn, ever since our father startled her with his careless racial outburst, she'd developed a mentality unlike any other girl her age. Her sense of racial justice only grew from that moment, and every day, she expressed her opinions, but selectively toward me- and on occasion- Travis. Both of us would try and talk her down, try to tell her to let these thoughts go, but just like when she was an infant, she could wrap anybody around her little finger and beguile her listener. She knew what she wanted, she never let anybody think for her. As she grew, she perfected her abilities as an enchantress. She knew mention of her contempt of our social customs would only upset our father, which is why she waited until she was old enough to get away with such speech before she let certain lines drop.

"The year was 1855. Carolyn turned eleven. Trevor graduated from West Point the previous year while Travis still attended and worked on his title. I was eighteen, and my skinny, post-pubescent body and massive height are only two things of many my father disapproved of.

"Carolyn, on the other hand, had a mind like an abolition activist from the north, but no one outside of myself knew because of her innocent, adorable features and ability to control what people thought about her through her fronts and carefully planned actions. Her skin was still pale and her hair was rich, dark and full of curls, as always. She was still as beautiful as the day she was born.

"The Halen family sat at supper in the ornate dining room when she decided that that day was the day to test our father's temper. She poked his button with the phrase, 'I wonder if the slaves would enjoy a story from the bible?' Asked with intent to get up from the very table and go read to them in the fields; my father replied, 'those mindless niggers won't understand anything you say, don't bother,' and he kept his voice calm even though he mentally disapproved. 'Perhaps if they could read...' she added under her breath. Father and clone-Trevor continued on with their meal and made nothing of her speech. They enacted the difference in genders then, by ignoring her personal opinion because she was female. This definitely enraged her.

"I knew my precious sister better than them, so I knew that she was going to do something in retaliation. Up to this point in our lives, I'd kept her personal opinions a secret from the rest of our family aside from Travis, but that didn't mean I approved.

"She made me question the 'why' of southern customs more than once, but I was just like every other white from the south. Even if I thought there was injustice in the peculiar institution of slavery, which I didn't at the time, there was no way I was about to change the economic business the south had. No slaves meant that our agricultural business- the only business that earned money to live the aristocratic life Carolyn and I did- wouldn't survive. Like many, I feared change in the current system. No white, rich or poor, could imagine working alongside a black for the same amount of pay. Even the north, the place where slavery was outlawed, had trouble grasping this concept completely.

"I knew Carolyn alone could never change the social rules enacted around whites and slaves. Her job was only to grow up as the proper lady she was born as, get married and bear children to continue the cycle.

"My job was to keep her safe until then.

"Anyway, the weather grew cold early on that October in Georgia. Early mornings were especially stingy with the loss of summer heat. About a week after the dinner with my father and eldest brother, where Carolyn first pushed my father's button concerning slaves, I glanced out my second-story window at a familiar sight: an eleven-year-old Carolyn sneaking away from the plantation home.

"There was a strange déjà vu that washed over me as I followed the creeping girl in a dress toward the slave quarters; I quickly realized that I hadn't seen her do this since she was six, and that didn't lead to anything practical. With an inward groan, I fought against the brisk morning of autumn by rubbing my palms together and placing them on my cheeks.

"My sister wore a deep red dress this time around, which made it more difficult to pick her out against the dark background of our property. I managed to keep an eye on her until she knocked on the door of one of the shacks, probably the same shack as before. Instantly, a light illuminated inside the cabin, followed by the door quickly opening. I clearly saw the joy and nervousness on young Carolyn's face in the light, and how her delicate black curls bounced as she was greeted by several dark faces. I recognized the mother of those two slaves boys all that time ago in the front, and she welcomed young Carolyn with a certain familiarity- I wondered how many times Carolyn snuck out without my knowledge before this event. By the excitement and openness of the slaves compared to the last time, it was probably often. From my hiding place behind a bush, I watched the door shut behind Carolyn after she stepped inside the shack, then my stomach squeezed itself until I felt nauseous. I barely noticed the black shawl wrapped around her shoulders before she disappeared. Inside the shawl, she carried a book."

Taylor seemed to recreate his facial expression he held at that point in time, because he looked absolutely distraught, Allison noted. "Is that bad?" she asked naively.

"Of course it's bad!" Taylor jerked. "Heard of the phrase, 'knowledge is power,' by chance? Carolyn mingled with our slaves, something already heinous in the eyes of society, but she couldn't stop there. She was a stubborn soul who was absolutely sure of the way God intended things to be, and she went inside that slave house that morning with intent to teach them to read. Nothing,and I mean _nothing_, was more unheard of in the south."

"Poor girl. She was just doing what she felt was right," his listener argued.

"Yet Carolyn's definition of 'right' was all sorts of wrong in the deep south. Back to that morning... I slid quietly to the one window carved into the cabin and tried my best to look inside without being noticed by one of several slaves inside. I quickly noted how many bodies occupied one of those abominable huts and still seemed smaller than my bedroom, which was meant for comfortable living of two. Still, this thought was easily pushed to the back of my mind when my mind finally clicked to what Carolyn stole away there to do.

"Her voice was muffled through the glass window and poor insulation, but the set-up of the inside of the cabin gave her away. She sat at the head of the house under the lamp, a white beauty in a room full of dirty workers, and dictated what each letter was in the pages of the very book _I_ taught her to read from. They would repeat what she said, and judged by their progress, I concluded that she visited several times before.

"Without lying to you or myself, I'll admit that I felt completely and utterly sick when I spied on the scene. Back then, I wasn't sure if my unease was because of my sister's actions or what I thought her punishment would be if my father ever caught her, but I knew later on it was a mixture of both. In a moment of confusion and some rage, I pounded on the wall of the shack in order to relieve some of my inner turmoil.

"Instantly, I realized my mistake and regretted blowing my cover. My head snapped up and my dark eyes darted straight to the hazel of my sister's through the window's glass. The shock and dread etched into her rosy cheeks was a mirror to all the dark faces around her, and probably reflected my own expression. For one instant, my brain didn't register skin color, only the shared emotion on every human in that room.

"Overcome with a demented revelation only my sister would be proud of, I turned and flew back toward the estate.

"A pleading, almost hysterical Carolyn chased after my trail as if her life depended on it. Her soft hands grabbed my slacks before I could reach my destination, and we both hit the dewy grass. 'Please, please don't tell Pa!' she pleaded, her voice desperate and dilapidated. I wrestled with her and tried to break free from her stark grasp. 'Travis would never tell Pa if he'd seen me!' I couldn't believe that my sister would say something so threatening like that to me, but at the time, it worked. I_ had _wanted to tell our father, she knew it before I did. Some small part of me thought his corrective punishment would keep her from thinking the way she did, from doing the things she did... keep her safe in the long run. But Carolyn knew just what to say to get her way.

" 'Alright, I won't tell,' I assured her after we stood up again. 'But you can't do this, Carolyn! You just can't do what you're doing! It's wrong!'

" 'Says who?' she demanded. Her hands rested on her hips and her attitude demanded a real reason, not 'because.'

" 'Says Pa, that's who!' I finally snapped at her, the threat clear in my voice. 'If I catch you doing this again, I will tell Pa! Don't think I won't,' I added in response to the skepticism on her face.

"A foul air rested between us on our way into the plantation house. She was angry with my disagreement of her logic, I was angry with her stubborn attitude. Our father would have never found out if she hadn't left her shawl and book in the shack."


End file.
